The Second Case of John Douglas
by spiritedkitty
Summary: A case isn't as closed as the Baker Street boys originally thought, Sherlock and John fall on the wrong side of some dangerous people. mystery/crime/friendship/hurt/comfort and some Sherlock/John fluff NO SLASH
1. Case Closed

**Hay guys! This actually is an old story I wrote nearly a year ago! I have since gone to university and come back home for the summer break and found my self going back to this story. And I was rather shocked at how poor the writing was! I still think it's a good story but I can tell it better! So here is, again Chapter 1 of The Second Case of John Douglas. **

**NOTE: This kind of story will be more enjoyed by fans of the original cannon more as it is set after The Valley of Fear as if it had been updated for Sherlock BBC. **

**NO SLASH but read into Sherlock and John's relationship as you wish ;)**

**SET during first series, before episode 3.**

Through the London smog surrounding Scotland Yard the figure of a tall wiry man emerged and got into a waiting cab, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm against the freezing cold of England in February.

"221B Baker Street," he said to the driver and it rumbled into life and sped away.

"Well then," said John, the cab's other passenger, as he turned to look at his companion with a smile on his face. "Case closed?" he asked, and the other man grinned.

"Yes, case closed," Sherlock replied looking out the window at the last drabs of people hurrying home from working overtime, eager to get away from the blistering cold.

"You know, you really are amazing sometimes" said John, smiling and raising his eyebrows nonchalantly. He unzipped his coat, as the cab was much warmer now they were on the move. "Were your theories confirmed?" he asked still smiling.

"Yes they were," said Sherlock, burring his cold face in his scarf. "As I suspected, the dead man wasn't John Douglas at all, but rather his supposed murderer."

"Right..." said John, with a confused frown on his face. "And what lead you to that conclusion?"

"Oh, it was blindingly obvious from the moment I saw the body, really," said Sherlock lightly, jutting his chin over his scarf to expound this brilliant deductions clearly. "The body wasn't wearing a wedding ring." John still looked puzzled. Sherlock continued rolling his eyes. "With a couple devoted to each other as much as Mr and Mrs Douglas were I cannot fathom a reason for him to ever have a want to remove it. Therefore the body wasn't Mr John Douglas. That along with several other clues such as the missing exercise weight and the fact that the room is half a meter shorter than it should be, all added up to Douglas not being the man lying on the floor with his face blown off." John took a moment to take this all in.

"So, where was he then?" He finally asked. Sherlock scowled at him.

"In the missing half a meter of course." He said exasperatedly burring his face inside his scarf again. "Sometimes, John, I wonder if you pay attention to what I say at all!" 

John rolled his eyes then looked more closely at his colleague. He was perhaps more pale than usual, his eyes more shadowy and the light shivering not from the cold of London . "Sherlock, " he said "When was the last time you slept?" he asked accusingly knowing the answer wont be something he wants to hear.

"Sleep? Sleeping's dull," said Sherlock unconcernedly. Then noticing John's face realised this wasn't going to be a sufficient enough answer. He thought for a moment, trying to recall exactly how many days he had neglected the basics of human survival. He could be exact facts on any case, but when it came to his own well being he was rather lax on the specifics. "About 2 days I think." He paused. "Could be 3," he added, glancing over at John again and resigning himself to the lecture that would probably be coming his way.

But John just sighed and put his hand on Sherlock's forehead. He had a fever. Sherlock tensed at his touch and tried to burry himself deeper into his scarf. John sighing again, frowned, and pulled Sherlock's wrist out of his pocket to feel his pulse. "And when was the last time you ate?" he said sternly with the authority of an army doctor.

Sherlock paused. "About 3 days I think." He paused again. "Could be 4," he added, grinning at John mischievously. John looked at him exasperatedly. Sherlock frowned then said, as if to justify why he hadn't eaten in days, "If she hadn't been laughing with Douglas's best friend Cecil Barker, then I could have solved it in a day, two days tops!" He pulled his wrist away from John and shoved it in his coat pocket again. "It was a case of having too much data, which made it harder to separate the useful from the distracting," he said off-handily, and started staring stubbornly at the back of the driver's head.

John rolled his eyes and looked out the window. He knew that Sherlock could last longer than other normal humans without the basic necessities of food and rest, but 4 days was pushing it. 

Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye. John as staring moodily out the window seeming to have given up on the usual 'You-need-to-take-care-of-yourself!' speech. This was a relief in some ways; John's perpetual motherhennery did get frustrating during a case. However now, Sherlock was slightly missing it. It was sometimes nice to have someone caring for you, not that Sherlock would ever admit this to John, probably not even to himself.

Sherlock closed his eyes, the soothing sounds of the cab rumbling it's way along the confusing streets of central London and the gentle breathing of this colleague sat next to him was oddly calming. His bones ached with exhaustion and the seemingly freezing cold blood rushing around his body was making him shiver. But he was nearly home, where his laptop was, where a new case was lying in wait for him to keep his mind off these boring symptoms. Probably not a remedy that John would recommend but it was certainly the only one that Sherlock had any interest in.

**This first chapter is more of a setting the scene chapter, telling you kind of 'what happened last episode' whatnot type stuff. Around chapter 3 (tho I'm not sure yet) things will pick up majorly!**

**What do you think? Reviews welcome!**


	2. Especially Not You

John looked at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock's eyes were closed; he would have looked almost peaceful if that frown of concentration wasn't permanently etched across his thin pale face. "That pale face," thought John worriedly as Sherlock sniffed and sunk deeper into his thick winter coat. Sherlock was clearly coming down with something nasty, maybe just a cold brought on from the stress he had been under. A good nights sleep is all he needed and he would be better again. John groaned as he thought about how hard it was going to be to try and convince Sherlock to 'have a good nights sleep'. He had decided to leave the lecture of 'You-need-to-take-care-of-yourself!' for tomorrow, as John himself was tired of it, but not as tired as he was of Sherlock not taking it on board. "A useless bit of data which he has since deleted" John suspected with a frown.

Sherlock sniffed again and gave a slight moan of frustration and pain as he felt the beginnings of a migraine starting. He snuck a peek at John who was now looking at him with a worried expression on his tired face. "Sherlock…" John started but Sherlock cut him off.

"It appears my brain is punishing me for having nothing left to think about." he said plainly attempting to mask his pain with his usual attitude of annoying indifference. Sherlock shivered. Now it seemed his whole body was punishing him for not taking care of it recently. His joints started aching. He shivered again and John looked at him, recognising all the symptoms instantly.  
>"Well that's what you get for pushing yourself too far," John said impatiently but with a hint of worry in his voice. Sherlock smiled at his ill-disguised concern for him and mused that it had really been a long time since anyone had genuinely cared for his well-being. This did not surprise him. <p>

"221B?" said the cab driver as the cab pulled up to the familiar address.

"Yeah, that's right," said John, pulling out his wallet, looking at the measly amount left in it, then looking at Sherlock.

"It's in my jacket pocket," he said, not moving. John waited for a bit. Then, as it seemed Sherlock was not going to get his wallet himself, John reached into his jacket, with difficulty, and pulled it out. This habit of Sherlock's was getting beyond annoying.

"Thanks," John said, and paid the driver.

Sherlock moved to get out, wincing at the street lamp's glare. He pulled himself up out of the cab, but his legs buckled and he grabbed the lamppost for support.

"Sherlock?" came a worried voice from the other side of the cab. John ran round to see what was wrong. Sherlock shakily pulled himself up, rather startled at this dramatic change in his health from when he got in the cab to when he got out. He suspected that now that his mind was not working on anything, it was giving up on keeping him alive altogether. He sighed exasperatedly at his own weakness

"I'm fine John"

"Oh, please, you couldn't fool anyone. Especially not me," said John irritably, jogging round the cab as it pulled away.

"Especially not you," Sherlock replied comically, taking a wobbly step forward. Feeling John put his arm around him, supporting him, they made their way to their front door.

Sherlock was feeling increasingly pathetic as John helped him with each step. They got to the door, Sherlock pulled his arm away from John and rested his weight against the railing and closed door. John looked at him worriedly and took out his keys. Sherlock was now looking even worse, from the light of the street lamp John could see even more clearly the bags under his eyes, his gaunt expression and his pale face with a thin ill looking layer of perspiration appearing there. Sherlock scowled at him. "John please, if you look at me with that pathetic look of worry any more I'm going to die." The door opened and John scowled and Sherlock glided in and queasily made his way to the banisters for support.

"You ungrateful bastard!" John shouted indignantly after him

"If you can think of a reason _why_ I should be grateful of you giving me puppy dog eyes then by all means, I shall be _grateful_" Sherlock replied snidely as he pulled himself rather pathetically upstairs. John sighed and scowled after him.

"You boys back then?" came the voice of Mrs. Hudson as she appeared carrying a tray of tea. John smiled at her, she really did like to look after them, probably because they were always in such situations were one needed looking after, such as Sherlock was right now.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson." Smiled John with a sigh.

"You two have been out late today. A case, was it?" she asked, making her way upstairs after Sherlock as John hung his jacket up.

"Yeah," said John 'Though Sherlock is a little bit worse for wear because of it."

"Oh, poor dear,' said Mrs. Hudson and she bustled into their flat clucking sympathetically as she saw a pair of legs sticking up on the arm rest of the sofa. She placed the tray on the coffee table and left the room. John moved round the room to get a better look at Sherlock's bizarre sleeping position. Sherlock was lying face down on the sofa still wearing his coat, his legs sticking up awkwardly as if he had tripped over one of the arms of the sofa and just stayed there. John rolled his eyes and went over to attempt to turn Sherlock over onto his side, but he just curled himself up into a ball like a cat and hissed.

"I'm sleeping. Isn't that what you wanted?" came the indignant voice of Sherlock as he attempted to fall asleep again.

"You should probably have something to eat first," said John exasperatedly, poking Sherlock in the arm and making him frown. This, not strictly a medical way of dealing with a reluctant patient, but its amusing, thought John. Then thinking that there might not be anything _to_ eat, John went to look in the fridge.

Sherlock pulled himself up so he was kneeling on the sofa and let his coat fall off him. All the blood rushed to his head, which was not a pleasant feeling when your head feels like it is stuffed with cotton wool. Shivering, he decided to put his coat back on until he could get to his dressing gown. He blinked, listening to John muttering about a severed finger and a can of cider being the only things left in the fridge, and then heard him make his way downstairs after Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock got up, using this temporary lack of John in the room as a chance to go get his laptop. He felt the room spin, his legs wobble, and his joints ache as he staggered towards the armchair where his laptop was charging. He sank to the floor, leaning on the arm of the armchair, and reached for his laptop feebly.  
>"What are you doing?" came the cross, puzzled voice of John coming back into the room with a rack of buttered toast in one hand and his nearly finished tea in the other.<p>

"Trying to reach the laptop." Said Sherlock as if it was perfectly natural to be lying in this position. John sighed

"Eat this, go to bed, and _then_ you can go on your laptop." Said John with the tone of one talking to a disobedient seven-year-old. Sherlock made a small-dissatisfied moan and reached out for the laptop anyway. John nudged it out of his reach with his knee. Sherlock scowled at him.

"That was very cruel John. I never knew you had this masochist streak, I must prepare myself in future."

"I'm the masochist?" said John incredulously putting the toast on the coffee table. He then pointed at it. "Eat it." He ordered. Sherlock pulled himself up onto his legs with a great effort and trundled over to the sofa. He gave John one last sarcastic look of contempt and curled up on the sofa, his head facing the back and his knees to his chest, resembling that of a stuck up cat. John sighed. He went over to the door picking up a blanket and hurling it at Sherlock. It hit him square on the head. John smiled as he heard a muffled and indignant "ouch" and finally went to his room for a much-needed good nights sleep.


	3. Case Closed?

Lestrade ran his fingers through his short grey hair. He eyed the two foreboding objects that had been lying in wait for him when he came to Scotland Yard this morning. A case folder, standard, but this one had stamped across it in big red letters:

'HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL'

He picked it up, hoping that maybe it would be a case which he might be able to work at alone, without the help of a certain somebody who he had seen a great deal of the last week. However when opening it he saw that all hope of keeping Sherlock Holmes out of this had just flown out of the window, along with his weekend off.

'John and Ettie Douglas found dead'

the letter started.

'Bodies washed up on the far Southbank of the Thames'.

Lestrade's brow furrowed as he all too vividly recalled the big case which he had only the day before closed with Sherlock:

John Douglas's body had been found in his bedroom, his face having been blown off., The body had been confirmed by the wife, Ettie, as her husband. Clues like a tattoo and same height and weight as John made the grieving wife certain. Dew to this fact the forensics team on identifying the body had taken a back seat. And as John Douglas had been a recluse, asking the neighbors would have been pointless, and none of them had seen anyone unusual enter of leave the building. Lestrade, although he hates to admit, had found trying to locate the murderer slightly beyond him, he had decided to call in Sherlock, who had worked nonstop for 4 days, until he deduced that the body was not Douglas but rather the man who had come to kill him, and that Douglas was actually hidden in a wall behind the four-poster bed.

Lestrade pulled on his coat, picked up the case folder, and rather reluctantly left for 221B Baker Street.

It was early morning and the first of the London commuters where pouring out of the Baker Street Underground Station. Lestrade watched them as he got out of his car and made the worryingly familiar way to 221B. He rang the bell. There was no answer. Lestrade looked at his watch.  
>"Well it is 8:45am," he thought crossly, "and people who don't occupy real jobs can have a lie in". He rang the bell again and the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard from inside. Along with the sound of indignant curse words, Lestrade noted. John opened the door. His hair was tousled and he was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a vest. He had a weary look about him, like someone who had not got enough sleep. However, he soon looked alert and ready at the sight of Lestrade. He let Lestrade in with a gesture of welcome.<p>

"Mrs Hudson and Sherlock are still asleep," he whispered, then noticed the case folder which Lestrade was carrying. "Urgent, I take it?" said John, leading Lestrade into the front room. Lestrade followed him, pulling the files out of the folder and sitting in the armchair that wasn't occupied by Sherlock's Laptop. John went into the kitchen and attempted to find the tea bags and the kettle, which happened to be buried under a small mountain of old newspapers and funny-smelling pieces of different coloured paper.

"It is urgent, but I think it's more something that will interest Sherlock rather than anything else." said Lestrade, taking a look around the room. All the tables and most of the floor were covered with various pieces of paper and strange objects, most notably a series of exercise weights with tags round them saying exactly how much they weighed. On the coffee table was a tray with a plate of untouched sandwiches and half a bowl of cold soup. Suddenly Lestrade noticed that he and John weren't the only people in this room. Curled up on the sofa like a giant cat, with his coat laid across him as a makeshift blanket, and a blanket under his head as a makeshift pillow, was Sherlock, breathing softly and evenly, clutching an assortment of papers to his chest like a child might hold a teddy bear. He looked strangely calm and natural, not the sarcastic and lethargic or the energetic and brilliant Sherlock which Lestrade knew all too well. Lestrade felt strangely embarrassed to see him with his defenses down and quickly looked away to see John coming towards him balancing three cups of tea.  
>"Thanks," said Lestrade, taking one from him and resting it on the mantelpiece. Lestrade raised an eyebrow as he noticed that next to his tea was a series of letters which were being held in place by a knife stabbed into the woodwork.<p>

John eyed the half finished slice of toast and the untouched cold cup of tea with a frown and placed the new cup of tea down next to them. Sherlock frowned and closed his eyes tighter.  
>"Honestly John, you told me to go to sleep," he croaked.<p>

"I told you to eat something," said John sternly. "Lestrade is here. He thinks he's got something interesting for you."

"Hmm, does he?" said Sherlock in a hoarse voice, rudely ignoring that fact that Lestrade can hear all of this. He didn't move for a moment and then flinging his legs out and round into a sitting position, subsequently swaying slightly at this sudden movement. John noticed anxiously as he took a gulp of his tea that Sherlock was looking even paler than the night before and then rather crossly that he had clearly been using John's laptop as it was underneath where he had lay.

Sherlock blinked at Lestrade who was sorting through his folder.  
>"So?" he said plainly, rubbing his eyes. "You better have woken me up for a good reason; you know I hadn't slept in four days."<p>

"Four days!" said Lestrade, incredulously looking Sherlock up and down noticing that he was still wearing his suit from the day before. Lestrade then looked at Sherlock's face. "You look dreadful!" he said in surprise.

"Thank you." said Sherlock sarcastically and rather bitterly.

Lestrade elaborated, realising that telling an irritable Sherlock that he looks dreadful might not be a wise idea. "I mean are you ill or something? Your eyes are all red and you're as pale as a ghost."

"As I said, I hadn't slept in four days." said Sherlock hotly, clearly wanting the subject to move on to the case.

"He has the flu," said John bluntly, looking over Lestrade's shoulder at the case notes. "It was actually this case that did it." said John, pointing at the name 'John Douglas' that was at the heading of one of the files. "Being out in the cold and not eating or sleeping for four days will do that to you."

"I said I didn't sleep for four days; I didn't eat for three days," sniffed Sherlock, shivering and picking up his coat to wrap it around him tightly. "There is a difference," he muttered stiffly and then adding to Lestrade, "Why have you come to me with this old case? I told you the dead man is the murderer and John Douglas is fine."

"No he isn't," said Lestrade handing Sherlock the folder. "John and Ettie Douglas were found dead this morning."


	4. Exactly!

The front door of 221B Baker Street flew open with a bang. Out of it Stormed Sherlock Holmes, his eyes bright and a spring in his step. No one would have guessed he had had his first couple of hours of sleep in 4 days last night. Behind him came John, he was pulling on his coat as he ran after Sherlock, a look of annoyance on his face which was trying to hid the keen excitement that they were on another case.

"Excellent!" grinned Sherlock as John came to fall in step with him. "Just excellent!" he repeated beaming. "A case like this doesn't come along often!" 

"Yes it is something new isn't it?" said John frowning but smiling as well. As he came into step with Sherlock he looked him up and down worriedly. Sherlock was still very pale and haggard looking, however his eyes where more alive than John had almost ever seen them and he walked with the force and speed of a man at the height of his physical health.

"You see John," continued Sherlock as they turned a sharp corner into a gloomy alleyway "If John Douglas's murderer was killed in place of him _but_ he has since been found dead then..." They turned another sharp corner into an open busy street of tourists walking very slowly much to the infuriation of Sherlock who push past them rudely.

"Then it was an organisation which killed him?" asked John jogging to keep up with Sherlock apologizing hurriedly to the many disgruntled tourists who had been almost tripped over by Sherlock's urgency.

"Exactly what I was thinking. He could have been a hired assassin, although no one very notorious otherwise I would have recognised them." said Sherlock then added with a grin "_Or_ an assassin who is one of them if we were lucky."

They hurried along another alleyway emerging next to a Marks and Spencer which Sherlock darted in pushing his way past the shopping isles and customers then going through the back entrance and out onto the street

"Now we have the brilliantly puzzling question to WHO wanted John Douglas and his wife out of the way!" John hurried to keep up, feeling as though if he hadn't been there then Sherlock would have just as happily said all this to the street. "Or should I say WHO didn't want the Douglas's to reveal something. Judging by their movements prier to the assassins mistake, they lived a quiet life. Maybe too quiet? Something must have happened recently to make these assassins make such a public attempt to kill them twice."

"Who then?" said John bluntly "and what something?"

"Exactly!" said Sherlock with glee and almost skipping with delight into a tall glass covered building, typical of the London business corporation. He then spun round sharply as John followed him making them bump into each other. "No John," said Sherlock slowly "I think it would be best if you stayed out here." Then he span back round and opened the door into the reception.

"What!" said John loudly after Sherlock feeling rather disgruntled at this wasted journey. Sherlock turned round again, letting the door close behind him. He walked over to John, their faces inches apart.

"The person who resides within this building is an _old_ _friend_ of mine," Sherlock said in a urgent but playful whisper. "We need to find out who we are dealing with and I believe she might be able to help us."

"Who is she?" asked John also in a whisper. Sherlock lent in even closer.

"My best connection to the underworld of London." he said with a cunning smile. "I think it would be best if I went alone, you know, the personal touch." He finished with a grin

"Right..." said John skeptically. He looked right into Sherlock's pale grey eyes in which to his surprise he saw a flicker of pained remorse and nostalgia in them. Sherlock blinked and this time his eyes had turned back into his usual look of cool calculating excitement. Then he grinned, turned away, and headed back up the steps. "I'll just go back to the flat then." John finished keeping his sudden glimpse into Sherlock's feelings to himself, he turned around to head back into the street trying and failing to remember the rout back.

"Oh John!" called Sherlock after him "Go to Scotland Yard! Pester Lestrade about finding more data on Ettie Douglas!"

"The wife?" said John turning to face Sherlock with a frown on his face "I thought she was innocent in all this."

"She must have known something, find her contacts, her relations and tell Lestrade to get off his ass and get to work! We might have a criminal organisation on our hands!" he finished grinning so broadly and getting some very strange looks from passers by. "See you in about a hour" he called over his shoulder as he strode into the glass reception.

John hailed a cab "Scotland Yard" he said mulling over what had just passed over Sherlock's eyes and the dangerous meeting that he knew he was going into. John could never remember the phrase 'old friend' ever sounding more ominous.

SBBCSBBCSBBCSBBC

Sherlock strode into the modern minimalistic reception area. "I'm here to see Miss Lindsey Pike" he said with a grin to the haughty receptionist who sat be hind a huge glass desk.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked looking up at Sherlock suspiciously.

"No." said Sherlock smiling inanely.

"Then I'm sorry but Miss Pike is a very busy woman and can't just have people..."

"Tell her 'Sherlock Holmes' wants to see her" interrupted Sherlock "and I'm sure she will find the time for me." he smiled turning round with the swoop of his coat to the waiting area. He sat down on one of the luxurious sofas and pressed the tips of his fingers together knotting his eyebrows into one concentrated line. The receptionist looked at him with distain and then pressed the intercom and quietly spoke into it.

A few moments later a tall, glamorously dressed, middle-aged women stepped through the doors at the back of the reception. She opened her arms in greeting towards Sherlock who at the sight of her stood up and held out his hand. 

"Sherlock!" she said warmly ignoring his out stretched hand and enveloping him in a loving embrace. Sherlock stiffened at this sudden attack and pushed her away.

"Miss Pike you don't want to do that, I have a terrible cold and would hate for you to catch it"

"Lindsey, please!" she insisted and then pulled away "You poor dear!" she said holding Sherlock at arms length and looking him up and down with a sympathetic look on her face "If you're so ill why have you come to me? I would hate for something awful to happen to you! Then again I wasn't expecting to see you again!" She laughed shrilly.

"I'm fine, really" said Sherlock brushing down his coat "and it's on different business that I call on you today."

"Oh really then?" she said raising her eyebrows, the warmth almost completely disappearing from her eyes "Better come strait into my office then."

Sherlock followed her along an ornate corridor with closed door on either side with brass words across them like: 'Financing' and 'Customer services'. Sherlock's eyes lingered on this door and Lindsey smiled and raised and eyebrow at him

"We could stop off if you want." She smiled mischievously.

"No thanks." said Sherlock, trying to hide the undertone of thirst in his voice.

"Very well then." she said playfully and strode to the end of the corridor and opened the big opaque glass doors to her office.

It was a huge room decked out with modern furniture and ornaments, a huge high backed black chair was positioned behind a thick driftwood style desk. She sat in it and gestured to the white leather armchair opposite the desk for Sherlock to sit in. He obliged sinking into the cushions until his knees almost rose up to his chest, then deciding that he looked ridiculous, perched on the edge of the armchair leaning over towards Lindsey Pike smiling sweetly.

"Please tell me everything you know about the assassins from the John Douglas case." He said with a sickly sweet smile.

**YAY things finally got moving in this chapter! Hope you like it so far, would really appreciate some reviews 3**


	5. Miss Lindsey Pike

Sherlock smiled at Miss Lindsey Pike coolly. His fingertips pressed together leaning towards her with threatening-nonthreatening air. He asked again:

"Please tell me everything you know about the assassins who killed John and Ettie Douglas." Sherlock's pale grey eyes stared into her dark green ones. He smiled as she stiffened in her seat. She looked down at her hands, averting his gaze, loosing her aura of imperturbable self-importance with the twitch of horror in the corner of her mouth. She shifted in her seat and rubbing her hands together in an agitated way, trying to regain her composure. Sherlock smiled again. This was going to be easy.

"Really now Sherlock." she laughed nervously making an attempt to regain her cool, charming demeanor "If your going to come in here I was expecting you to ask me about my field of expertise in the criminal doings of England! Not about assassins! That's not my area in the slightest."

"'Of England' really?" teased Sherlock "And here I was, thinking you were still just operating in London! No wonder these assassins asked for your help". He had been expecting to just find a rumor, a clue, a tiny fact to lead him somewhere else. Lindsey's connections spanned far and wide across the dark underbelly of London so Sherlock's reasoning was that she would be a good place to start uncovering secrets, but no, Lindsey was up to her ears in this case. Sherlock grinned. Brilliant!

"Sherlock" Lindsey Pike hissed, shifting forward in her seat threateningly "I am _far_ more than what I was the last time you saw me."

"Apparently so" mused Sherlock leaning back in his chair, not remotely intimidated. "Yet you will still invite me into your office. Things haven't changed that much."

Lindsey Pike bit her lip. "So you think." She spat clenching her hands together on her desk so hard that the white of her knuckles shone bright against her dark skin. Sherlock smiled again.

"You _do_ know something about these assassins Lindsey. " said Sherlock bringing the subject back, his eyes flashing and his grin broadening "You know you cant play me for a fool. You've never been able to."

"Define 'fool' Sherlock." Lindsey Pike sneered splaying her hands on her desk. Sherlock's iron defense seemed to falter as he looked into those cold gloating eyes. He pulled himself together.

"There is no point playing with me Lindsey. I know you are involved, that much is obvious. Now, you could save us all some time and tell me what you know, or, I could find out on my own." He raised his eyebrows innocently "And who _knows_ what else I might find?"

Lindsey Pike stiffened uncomfortably. "Assassins Sherlock. _Assassins!" _she hissed with sort of pleading anger in her voice "Are you trying to get me into trouble?" Sherlock donned a look of mocking incredulity.

"Lindsey!" he said in a hurt voice "After all the times when I've helped you?"

"Yes! But you had _SO _much to gain from helping me!" she spat quickly leaning forwards with her nails digging into her desk, looking as if she was going to pounce on him.

Sherlock stayed rooted to the spot, he felt his feet go cold and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Old memories of his untamed past where returning with a longing and a loathing to which he did not want to become accustomed to again. But he was busy now, he had cases, his _mind_ was busy, it was occupied with thoughts: interesting, exciting thoughts.

Lindsey continued: "And what would I get in return for risking my neck for you?" she hissed. "You saying you wont go snooping through my affairs? What kind of transaction is that?"

Sherlock looked up at the expression of mingled fear and satisfaction on Lindsay Pike's face as she read the lingering thoughts of longing on his. She smiled triumphantly.

"Wouldn't you just love to go back to those nice, carefree days?" she cooed childishly resting her head in the palm of her hands, her elbows on the table. Sherlock smiled sourly at her but said nothing and stayed, unmoving, in his chair.

"It was nice, wasn't it Sherlock? The boredom you felt, it would just seep away wouldn't it?" Her voice was almost hypnotic. "You liked it Sherlock, you liked it." She smiled playfully "I can help you again Sherlock, you know I can. We can be friends again. Lets just put this silly 'assassins' business behind us shall we?"

Sherlock stood up agitatedly and started pacing around the room. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he felt her watching him, that simpering smile still on her face, her hawk like eyes following his every movement. A minute passed, Sherlock pacing the whole time. Then he turned round abruptly to face her, one hand wrapped round his middle protectively and the other raised to his mouth were he was biting the knuckle of his index finger hard. He had a look of immense worry, panic on his face; look of ravenous hunger in his eyes. A rare look for Sherlock Holmes.


	6. Scowrers?

Sherlock bit his knuckle hard. Lindsey Pike was looking at him intently, she was on guard as if she expected him to do just about anything at any moment. He walked over to her thick driftwood style desk slowly, dejectedly, as a man giving in to a demon he knows he can't trust. Lindsey Pike smiled. Her satisfied grin widening as Sherlock knelt down and rested his arms flat on her desk and then to her surprised delight his head in his arms.

"Lindsey…" Sherlock started, his voice almost breaking. "I…"

"Sherlock it alright." She said sweetly cutting him off, the undertone of triumphant greed not quite well enough hidden.

"I know I can't bargain with you Lindsey." he finished with the sound of pitiful resignation quivering his deep voice.

"That's right you can't." She agreed her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I can help you. Like old times." She raised her hands tentatively wanting to stroke his mess of dark curls but still weary of this great man who appeared to be on the verge of breaking down in front of her. Sherlock frowned sadly and drummed his fingers slowly on the thick driftwood style office table. He pouted, the epitome of sulky defeat. She smiled broadly and playfully ruffled his curls. "Come now Sherlock, its alright. I'm going to help you, that's what you want, that's what you have always wanted" She lent back calmly.

Sherlock looked up at her, his head still resting on the table, his fingers still drumming. Lindsey Pike was smiling sweetly but the look in her eyes was greedy and malicious. He was unwittingly reminded of a snake. Her cold eyes looking down at him, her helpless prey. It made his skin crawl but he continued drumming his fingers, ever so slowly moving his hands across the table. Lindsey Pike continued smiling leaning back in her chair enjoying the moment of Sherlock Holmes being at her mercy, again.

Sherlock suddenly rapped the table hard with his knuckles startling Lindsey Pike back into her chair. There was the sound of a lock clicking open and the grating of metal on metal. Sherlock got up and stepped back to reveal a hidden draw opening out from beneath the desk. He grinned broadly and looked at the contents of the draw. Lindsey Pike looked dumbfounded it, her jaw slack, and her eyes wide.

"How?" she stuttered.

"Now really Lindsey," said Sherlock his usual look of confidence and arrogance back on his thin pale face. "I won't insult your intelligence with telling you how I worked it out" He bent down and took a laptop out of the draw turned around and opened it. 

"Drum… drumming your fingers?" she asked with a look of disbelief on her face "but that table is specially made! The sound of a hollow space was cushioned out!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows incredulously at her. 

"Then it wasn't 'specially' _enough_ made." He said opening the laptop. 

"Don't..." said Lindsey Pike feebly. Sherlock ignored her protest and started the laptop up. 

"When I see a table as thick as yours" he explained "and hear a _lack_ of a hollow space when there is clearly room for a draw, then I _know_ that it must be there to conceal a secret draw instead!" he smiled at her sweetly. "A lack of suspicious sounds is probably the number one confirmation that there is something suspicious going on!" Sherlock smiled arrogantly and looked down at the screen turning his back to her. 

"Put it back." Sherlock heard Lindsey Pike say bluntly 

"Now now Lindsey" said Sherlock condescendingly "what _have_ you been hiding?" There were several files on the desktop. He scanned over the ambiguous file names: _List, Regulars, Clients, M, Bank, Log, Alumni_ and _Bank Special_. Sherlock clicked on this last one, suspecting that if Lindsey was involved in anyway it would be with money but these assassins were no regular customer so 'Bank Special it was. This opened a folder with two files in it: a spreadsheet and an email account. He dismissed the spreadsheet and clicked on the email account that opened up a read email from someone named _Ted Baldwin_.

Sherlock smiled triumphantly, the name of the assassin who failed to kill John Douglas the first time had later been identified as a Mr _Ted Baldwin_. He clicked on the "inbox history" button and a list of three emails sent from Ted Baldwin appeared. He clicked on the second most recent one. It read:

"From Chicago to Heathrow will cost £920, pay within the week"

No new information there thought Sherlock, he knew that Baldwin had come from Chicago and within that week of when that email had been sent was the week in which Ted Baldwin had died. He clicked on the first one sent it read:

"_Scowrers_ need money now. He suggested you. Will make it worth your while."

Sherlock felt a thrill of excitement shiver though his body. The _Scowrers_ were behind all this? An old gang, supposedly disbanded, once based is Illinois. But something else caught Sherlock's eye, something that for some reason made his blood run cold "_He_". Sherlock's heart was racing with intense excitement as he went to click on the last email sent to Lindsey Pike, the one he hadn't read. But then he heard a different kind of click. The sound of a gun being cocked.

"Lindsey, shooting me here won't advantage you in anyway." He said exasperatedly not turning around. He felt the tip of a cool gun press into the back of his neck and cursed himself for being so engrossed in these emails that he was unobservant enough to let Lindsey Pike creep her way around the desk and was standing right behind him. Stupid!

"Sherlock, your right I don't want to. Your corpse would be a major problem, one I don't have time to deal with." She whispered in his ear "However you're going to leave me no choice. Don't read that next email. Give the laptop to me" she ordered calmly with an intensity that she had not shown him before. The urge to read that email was almost over powering. Sherlock didn't move. 

"My friend saw me come in here." He said somewhat desperately. She chuckled sardonically. "He's not that much of an idiot to not call the police when I don't come home." 

"Come home?" said Lindsey with a hint of amusement in her ice-cold voice "Have you found yourself a boyfriend at long last? You don't want to leave him heart broken." Sherlock decided to ignore this comment. "No Sherlock, the police could do next to nothing to me if I shot you compared to if you read that email and my client found out." 

"_He_? Is that your illusive client?" said Sherlock coolly but not quite being able to hide his excitement Lindsey Pike said noting. "I'll take that as a yes." She said nothing but pressed the gun a little harder into his back.


	7. Wait a moment!

John wringed his hands and looked at the clock. It was four thirty-five in the afternoon. He got up and walked around the small living room of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock had said he would be about one hour, which was five hours ago.

Although a fan of irregular habits, Sherlock was always very punctual. He prized himself on being absolutely correct with facts and planning, and this included exactly how long it was going to take him to do anything. If it were meeting someone, solving a problem, or getting to a destination; Sherlock Holmes could give the timing within the hour. Therefore, John was worried. He had never known Sherlock to ever be late, unless he had gotten himself in to trouble, which was more than likely thought John his brow furrowing into a concerned line. He was _not_ going to go look for him; Sherlock was intelligent enough to look after himself. John sat completely still for a few seconds then abruptly got to his feet and put his coat on muttering crossly to himself "Honestly..."

However John had barely made it downstairs when he heard a rustling at the door and it flew open. In came Sherlock looking exhausted and pale but very pleased. "I must be late if you're on your way to look for me." He said noticing John on the stairs and smiling up at him.

"I was just going out for a bit." said John quickly, not really sure why he was lying.

"Fine, say what you want." said Sherlock unconcernedly pushing past him and up the stairs "Stay here now that I am back, I need to hear what Lestrade had to say about Ettie Douglas." John obeyed and followed him up the stairs.

"Only if you tell me what you have been up to these past five hours!" called John after Sherlock and followed him into the kitchen.

Sherlock was taking his coat and jacket off and was bending over the sink. "What are you doing?" asked John leaning over him. And to his horror saw that Sherlock had a long gash in his right arm which was oozing blood "Sherlock!" said John in horror coming over to his side and inspecting his wound.

"John its nothing." said Sherlock still with his cheery air as he pulled off his ripped sleeve "Shame about this shirt though," he mused "I've always quite liked this purple one."

"How on earth did you get this done to you?" he asked incredulously gently taking hold of Sherlock's arm "Quite a well made knife for your average mugger." said John noticing the cleanness and deepness of the cut even though it had gone through two layers of clothing.

"Well done John, quite the medical detective!" said Sherlock smiling broadly at him before swaying slightly and going even paler.

"How long have you been running around like this?" demanded John as he gently walked Sherlock over to the sofa and got a sheet of kitchen towel placing it over his cut so he didn't leak blood all over the sofa.

"They got me on Changford Street" called Sherlock happily laying back in the sofa as John rushed upstairs for his first aid kit.

"They?" John repeated as reappeared in the living room looking at Sherlock in amazement

"Yes there was two, nasty men, hope I don't meet them again!" said Sherlock in a surprisingly good mood, especially seeing as he was even paler than usual with blood loss and the lingering effects of his cold, both effecting his health rather drastically. "Then again the way I left them I don't suppose they want to meet me again either!" John decided to ignore this last part feeling that Sherlock had probably left them in quite a worse state than the average self defense case would go for.

"You need to take better care of yourself." said John as he dressed Sherlock's wound, Sherlock winced.

"It was a well made knife but they weren't muggers" he said not listening to John's reprimands

"What were they then if they weren't muggers?" asked John

"Lindsey's boys I suspects, judging by the fact that they started following me strait after I had left her building and that the weapons they used where extremely well made. We must be onto something pretty extraordinary if she's sending people to attack me. Although, I wouldn't know for sure that their Lindsey's seeing as I've never fallen on the wrong side of her until now." said Sherlock with evident joy in his voice; his eyes ablaze with this fascinating and dangerous case.

"Lindsey?" asked John "She's your 'old friend' then?"

"Yes although I don't think she would even jokingly want to call me that anymore." said Sherlock in an amused tone. John rolled his eyes

"Are you going to tell me what you have been up to?" he asked sighing

"Yes!" said Sherlock pleasantly and John looked up "After you have told me about Ettie Douglas" he finished and John glowered at him.

"Nothing that partially interesting really." said John looking back down at the bandage he was tightening around Sherlock's arm. "I found Lestrade at the Thames with the bodies. John and Ettie Douglas both died of asphyxiation, drowning, and no signs of harm to their bodies other than all the water in their lungs. Lestrade is starting to think was an accident." Sherlock snorted at this but said nothing to and stared out the window. John continued, "She was a beautiful woman. The daughter of a wealthy hotel owner from somewhere called Vermissa Valley near Chicago." Sherlock lowered his eyelids and sank deeper into the sofa. "Apparently that's where she met John Douglas. He was in some sort of law enforcement role, although the facts on that are very vague, they got married and moved to England. Not much is known about them other than that. She apparently was also very beautiful in her youth, got caught up in a little trouble with some gang members when one of them was giving her unwanted attention."

"This gang's name?" asked Sherlock

"No idea." said John finishing the bandage and going to wash his hands. Sherlock pondered over this flexing his fingers thoughtfully whilst keeping the tips of them touching. John came to sit in the arm chair opposite and looked at him pointedly. However Sherlock was in a world of his own, his lips pursed in concentration. John, noticing these familiar signs of intense thought, realised that he would just have to wait and see if Sherlock was going to tell him anything in his own time. John opened his laptop and went to go check the comments on his blog.

Time passed and Sherlock didn't move a mussel. John was now getting rather frustrated at Sherlock for not keeping up his end of the deal. He was desperate to know what had happen to Sherlock's apparent 'old friend' to make her loath him this much. Nearly 2 hours had passed and John was just about to break Sherlock from his revelry to ask what he wanted for dinner when he then snapped out of it by his own accord with a cry of frustration.

"No!" spat Sherlock turning to face John who looked taken aback by this sudden aggression "No matter how I go about it there is no way of confirming it!" said Sherlock furiously.

"Confirming what?" asked John collecting himself after this sudden outburst

"John?" said Sherlock with a look of irritated disbelief on his face "Weren't you listening?"

"To your thoughts?" asked John incredulously. Sherlock looked confused.

"No, to what I said." said Sherlock in a mystified tone of voice

"You haven't said anything in about two hours" said John worrying slightly for his flat mate's sanity

"Oh." said Sherlock looking at the clock "Well," he said not appearing to be remotely embarrassed for this bizarre outburst "the name of the gang!" he said resting his chin on his fist then wincing at the pain in his arm so changing fists so he was facing John "if it was _Scowrers_ then we would really be onto something, but seeing as we can't find out..."

"Wait a moment!" said John exasperatedly

"What?" asked Sherlock impatiently gingerly picking up his violin and placing it on his shoulder, he seemed rather disgruntled at this interruption.

"Tell me what happen with Lindsey! And who or what is _Scowrers_?" said John in annoyance. Sherlock glared at him for a second, then with a smile said

"Yes it might do me some good to explain to how I got into this confounded conclusion. I'll tell you what happened with Miss Pike"


	8. What did you do?

Sherlock Holmes stretched his long limbs with a flourish, screwing his face up against the exhaustion which he was feeling after running around London all day, also the dull pain in his right arm where he had been cut throbbed horribly when he moved it. He looked through his squinting eyes at John who was looking at him eagerly. He felt rather guilty at having made John wait this long for an explanation. But if anyone could wait for a long time so that Sherlock would tell them something interesting, then it was John. Sherlock relaxed, placing his violin back on the table and pressing the tips of his fingers together in thought. John placed his hands on his knees and leaned in excitedly, like a child impatient to hear a story. Sherlock smiled at John's blatant excitement, and began.

"When you left me I was on my way to see Lindsey Pike, an _old friend_ who is in one of the most unsavoury lines of business in this gloriously grubby city. I know her from a time shortly after I had finished university, when I was at a complete loss of what to do and she... I wouldn't say _helped_... she _used_ me, but we both got what we wanted so I can't really complain." said Sherlock ponderously

"Which line of business is that?" asked John apprehensively

"Drugs." said Sherlock bluntly. John looked taken aback at this abrupt confession.

"Drugs?" he asked fervently

"Yes drugs." said Sherlock now fidgeting, clearly wanting to get away from this subject. "It all started when I was young and naïve, before I became a detective, but I still got as bored as I sometimes get now. I craved for something to stimulate my brain and cocaine was the only thing that I thought would work." He looked at John intently "Left me in a horrible mess." He added and looked out the window at the murky dark street. John was still rather shocked at this peek into Sherlock personal past that he didn't say anything. "But as I say," continued Sherlock turning back to face him "that is far behind me now." John recovered himself. He saw a look in Sherlock's eyes which was hard to describe, a sort of yearning and repugnance for a time which had in some-ways been easier

.  
>"How far behind you is it?" asked John hesitantly searching Sherlock's face for an answer.<p>

"Oh please!" said Sherlock reproachfully "I work with the police regularly. How would I be able to hide a drug addiction even from the likes of Lestrade?"

"You have tried then?" asked John remembering Lestrade's pretend drugs bust from a study in pink. Sherlock didn't answer; he was done with this subject

.

"I needed to asked Lindsey about the assassins as she is the person most in-tune with the going-on's of the London criminal world that I know." said Sherlock "It appears that they are not assassins but rather a violent gang who go by the name of: the _Scowrers_"

"_Who_?" asked John feeling rather out of his depth

"The _Scowrers_, an interesting gang I read up about when I was going through my 'american gangs' phase in school." said Sherlock dismissively then noticing John's mystified expression he elaborated. "The 'Scowrers' are an old gang from Chicago. They had been around since the gold rush and had a lot of connection in the Chicago police force. They were disbanded by an FBI agent Brian Edwards about forty years ago and were since disbanded. Or so I thought." Sherlock paused and clenched his hands in excitement. "John Douglas told me, when I discovered him behind that wall in my last case, that he was hiding from something. He had escaped to England from America with his wife Ettie and his best friend Cecil to avoid it although it appears that they caught up with them. He down right refused to tell me anymore than that."

"Oh right." Said John trying to keep up with all this new information.

"The man who first tried to kill John Douglas was identified as Ted Baldwin. An ex-member of the _Scowrers_ but maybe not as 'ex' as I thought." Sherlock paused again and sighed. "The rest is all speculation unfortunately." Continued Sherlock sadly but still with the glint of excitement in his eyes "If we were to say that Ted Baldwin was not as ex-scowers, _then_ if we presume that the reason the Douglas's were escaping America was that the _Scowrers_ were after them. Also if you take into account John Douglas's ex-law enforcement career, _then_ it would make sense that John Douglas _is_ or rather _was_ Brian Edwards ex-FBI! And _that_ is why they are now dead!"

"Brilliant!" said John excitedly

"No it's not." Said Sherlock sulkily. John frowned.

"But it makes sense!" said John "Ted Baldwin never left the _Scowrers_, he got out of prison and came after the Douglas's from orders from his gang. And even though he failed someone else from the gang did succeed which is why John and Ettie are dead!"

"But that is all speculation John! There are no solid facts; or rather I don't have the solid facts. I NEED that laptop!" Said Sherlock exasperatedly

"Laptop?" asked John

"Ah right," said Sherlock "We got side tracked, let me finish telling you what happened with Miss Pike"

Sherlock continued with this story, telling John all about the confrontation he had had with Lindsey Pike and the emails he had seen. John was on the edge of his seat.

"A gun to your back!" he asked in amazement. Sherlock smiled. John really was an excellent audience.

"I thought for a moment. The desire to read the next email was almost over powering, the thirst to find out who _He_ was, was even more so. But I knew that being _dead_ would be an even bigger a bump in my plans than if Lindsey hadn't given anything away." John rolled his eyes, only Sherlock could consider being _dead_ a 'bump'.

"What did you do?" asked John

"I closed the laptop." said Sherlock with a sigh of resignation.

"What about the email?" cried John getting caught up in the excitement of the story.

"There was no way I could have got out of there otherwise." said Sherlock resignedly "But I'm sure that one day we will find out who _He_ is. _He_ seems too fun to elude me forever" said Sherlock attempting to end his story but the look of bitter discontent was all over his face. He got up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started pacing around the room.

"So what happened next?" asked John watching Sherlock's progress around the room.

"Well I gave the laptop back to Lindsey and quickly made my way out." said Sherlock distractedly

"That's it?" asked John incredulously "So you barley found out anything solid?"

"No! Well yes, but!" said Sherlock triumphantly "We know that if Lindsey was regretting letting me go so much as to send her boys after me then we must really be onto something dangerous!" John felt a surge of excitement swell in his stomach and spread all through out his body.

"What do we do now?" he asked, also getting up

"Steal that laptop!" said Sherlock turning to face John with a manic smile of exhilaration on his face.


	9. It's absolutely necessary!

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, his lean figure craning over a slightly smoking row of test tubes as he pushed slips of blood spotted paper into each with an intensely absorbed look on his face. John glanced at him, he was always amazed at how Sherlock could completely mentally distance himself from any case when he conceded that he had done all that he could, for now. John however was sitting restlessly and unable to put his mind to anything remotely productive. He had finally got Sherlock to eat a proper meal, which Sherlock had been avoiding saying that digesting would only put him off his case. But then when the doctor had pointed out to him that going nearly a whole week without anything to eat would actually kill him, he had consented to eat a small meal of leftover Chinese.

"Sherlock?" John said fully expecting to get no answer as Sherlock had just pulled a slip of paper out of one of the test tubes and was smiling at it as it turned a bright red. But Sherlock looked back at him keeping his rather manic grin on his face.

"Yes John it's _absolutely_ necessary." said Sherlock putting down the piece of paper on top of the teapot and looking at John with a happy and arrogant look on his thin pale face. He was still suffering from his cold but seemed to have the energy to be annoyingly intelligent. John had noticed this and had rather crossly decided not to worry about it.

"I didn't ask anything" said John scowling at Sherlock and at his almost dangerous untidiness.

"Yes you did" said Sherlock coming over to the arm chair opposite him and lounging in it looking at John smugly. "You asked it with your constant rustling of the newspaper, with the way you have been crossing and uncrossing your legs, how you have been shooting me disappointed looks for the past hour. And the answer is 'yes', it's _absolutely_ necessary."

John sat and looked at him; he was always astounded with how Sherlock could almost read his thoughts through such small inferences. However John was in a bad mood with Sherlock. _Stealing_ was not something that the ex-army doctor was accustomed to and what Sherlock was suggesting could only be put under that title.

"Is there no _other_ way you might be able to read that email?" asked John dejectedly knowing the answer.

"Of course not!" said Sherlock dismissively picking up his violin "I am sure that Lindsey's emails are attached to her hard drive so just hacking into that email account would be pointless." Sherlock played a few chords and expertly tuned the strings to his perfect pitch.

"To think you could sink so low as to become a common thief." said John attempting to touch a nerve with Sherlock and discourage him from taking this dangerous and highly illegal excursion.

"I am no common thief!" Sherlock spat as he inspected his bow for bits of dust. "I am an extraordinary thief." he finished. John sighed realising he had struck an altogether wrong nerve.

"Sherlock," John tried again as Sherlock began playing a complicated waltz in D minor. "It's going to be too dangerous." Sherlock snorted at this feeble attempt to discourage him and continued playing the waltz.

"I thought that you would be all for it." He said slyly looking at John out of the corner of his eye "These people are wanted murderers and we have a chance to catch them, not to mention prevent another death."

"Another death?" asked John in shock

"Yes Cecil Barker will be next." said Sherlock continuing to play the violin. "I thought you would be _raring_ to go at this opportunity to uphold justice."

"You didn't tell me about Cecil Barker, who is he?"

"I did tell you!" said Sherlock incredulously standing up and walking slowly around the room to better play his violin. "He was John Douglas's best friend, they were friends in America."

"So you think these 'Scowrers' assassins are going to kill _him_ next?" said John also standing up "Then we must tell the police!"

"We will, all in good time," said Sherlock playfully his waltz shifting into the key of G sharp major.

"Why withheld this information?" John nearly shouted at his flat mate unable to stand this almost inhuman coldness "A mans life is at risk!" Sherlock span round to face him, stopping his violin playing mid phrase.

"The police will just get in my way," he spat "Lestrade and his gang of idiots will probably somehow let all of London know about my suspicions, thus, making it almost impossible for me to take that laptop tonight!"

"You need to have more faith in Scotland Yard" said John bluntly "they let you get away with murder!" Sherlock smiled at him coolly

.  
>"Yet I don't think they will let me get away with <em>stealing<em> however." He said turning around and continuing his waltz. John stepped in front of him and Sherlock stopped again.

"If you don't tell Lestrade that you think Cecil Barker is next, then I am going to tell them about you going to steal that laptop." Sherlock looked taken aback at John's resoluteness having just expected him to let him do what he wanted. He scowled at John and turned around again. Sherlock knew that John would probably not rat him out to the police but...

"Fine!" said Sherlock whirling around and stomping over to the sofa, dropping his violin on the furthest cushions and curling up at the other end. "You tell them about Cecil Barker if you want to, Mr morally ambiguous, shooting cab drivers while having a go at me for potentially stealing!" John sighed raising his eyebrows, making Sherlock do the right thing was sometimes rather wearing. He pulled out his mobile and dialed Lestrade's number. He paused,

"Of course, I will be coming with you." he said looking at the back of Sherlock's head.

"Coming with me to do what?" asked Sherlock huffily not turning to face him

"To take that laptop" said John pressing the call button. Sherlock turned round to look at him and grinned conceitedly, John would never pass up an opportunity to go on an adventure.

"Knew you would come. I know my Watson." said Sherlock and John smiled crossly pressing his finger to his lips as he heard the agitated voice of Lestrade answer the phone.

**This is probably my fave chapter lol :) I don't really know why but I just like it 3 Review please! I want to know what people think of this story! **


	10. Trembling with excitement

Sherlock and John made their way out of 221B Baker Street. It was almost one in the morning. They were dressed all in black, Sherlock donning one of John's larger jumpers to replace his long coat which would have got in the way of that nights secretive business. John was feeling rather restless; being on the wrong side of the law was not something that he felt accustomed to. He thought about when he had been caught with those cans of spray paint in the blind banker case. He had only finally got off with some help from Sherlock's connections with the police; though it was Sherlock's fault he had been caught with the paint in the first place. However to actually do something as illegal as breaking into an office building and stealing a laptop was an offence that he didn't think even Sherlock could get away with. John grimaced as he realised that Sally and Anderson would probably make it their business to make sure that Sherlock and him were sent to jail, if they were caught that is. Sherlock however was not feeling remotely guilty for what he was about to attempt. Instead he was going through the plan in his head for miscalculations or mistakes. There was none of course and he quickened his pace.

They were taking a different rout to Lindsey Pike's offices than they had the previous day. That one, not to mention took a detour through Marks and Spencer's, had far too many security cameras that could maybe spot them breaking into Lindsey Pike's office building. Sherlock instead took them through an apartment block, up a rickety set of stairs, across someone's roof and hundreds of other strange, hard to get to places. John followed a step behind Sherlock all the time, his military career making his agility and reflexes keener than most but not as keen as Sherlock, who it seemed to John, could almost see in the dark. He made his way through the darkness of London at such a pace that it was hard for John to keep up. There was a narrow grassy space in-between Lindsey Pike's office's back wall of and the building that stood adjacent to it. Sherlock climbed down from a roof garden onto a thick iron railing, like a cat, then hopped down into the small overgrown space then motioned to John to do the same. John followed, not as graciously but as quietly so they were not discovered.

"We're here" whispered Sherlock crouching down on the small space of untamed grass "This is the only place where it is possible get into the offices not through the front door and without the street security cameras seeing us."

"Are we outside Lindsey's office then?" John whispered back. He reached out to feel his colleague's presence in the pitch-black darkness they were crouching in. He grabbed Sherlock's coats sleeve. He could feel Sherlock trembling, ever so slightly, with excitement.

"Close enough, we are out side the customer rest rooms which are situated in the 'Customer Services' section of Lindsey's building" John heard Sherlock say and then saw his thin arm poke out of the shadows and point to a narrow window just above their heads. "That's our entrance." he said and John stared at him.

"How do you expect us to get through that?" he asked incredulously

"Well I've done it before" said Sherlock matter-of-factly standing up and pushing it open "it's bigger than it looks if you take out the frame" John pulled Sherlock down to his level again.

"You have done this _before_!" he hissed amazed.

"Yes, several times" replied Sherlock, having now removed the frame of the window and was eager to get onto maneuvering himself through it.

"_Several times_!" John hissed again not believing his ears

"Well I was usually coming from the inside out but the principles the same." said Sherlock facing him impatiently and John felt his hot breath on his forehead.

"And why were you crawling though a window?" he asked resignedly, feeling as though this madman could not come up with anything more outrageous

"Well the police were at the front doors so I obviously couldn't go through there!" Sherlock hissed back. He stood up again and began slipping his boney body through the window with surprising ease.

"Obviously." sighed John and watched as Sherlock kicked his legs until they vanished through the window. They were soon replaced by a pair of thin but strong arms waving for John to grab them. 

Sherlock poked his head round the door of the 'Customer Service' rest room. There was no one there. he smiled, Lindsey still kept her schedule the same as she had for years. Her staff members and her were always out of the office by midnight so as not to cause suspicion from absurd late night shifts. Also after a bad experience with a security guard years back, slightly dew to Sherlock's doings, there were no security guards when Lindsey Pike herself wasn't in the building. She didn't trust them. Of course there was no burglar alarms, you don't want the police showing up to a drugs hive even if you are being burgled. There were not security cameras either, customer confidentiality was of the utmost importance and many of Lindsey Pike's customers did not want their transactions to be recorded. Lindsey Pike's number one security measure was that there was nothing there for anyone to steal, or rather that's what people thought. Sherlock of course knew different.

John poked his head round the door also. "So if you have used that window before then why has Lindsey not blocked it up? She must know that that's the way you would brake in."

Sherlock walked out into the room. "Oh, Lindsey was never there when I was sneaking out through that entrance" he said nonchalantly and then crept over towards the door which lead onto the corridor he had walked along with Lindsey hours before.

"You were stealing drugs?" said John in an appalled voice

"No!" hissed Sherlock turning to face him furiously "I was buying drugs from her staff members who were stealing it from her!" John just looked at him, and Sherlock flushed with frustration. "Honestly John, don't start assuming that just because I _once_ did drugs that I was some sort of 'scum bag'." He pressed his finger to his lips to signal that they now had to be silent.

He turned away from John and put his hand on the door to push it open. It creaked softly and Sherlock peeked through it. It was pitch black but Sherlock trained eye saw that there was no one around. He smiled to himself. This was so easy it was almost boring.

However, Lindsey Pike did have locks on all the important doors. Her office door included and that laptop was most likely still there, thought Sherlock , Lindsey would probably be too scared to move it and didn't think Sherlock had the gall to steal it, especially not tonight.Sherlock quivered with excitement at the thought of solving it and stepped out into the corridor, John at his heels.

Sherlock strode down it with almost a spring in his step until he felt John grab his sleeve and whisper agitatedly

"How can you see anything? Its pitch black!"

Sherlock turned to face him and saw in the darkness John's squinting face and smiled "Sorry John!" he said jovially and grabbed John's hand to help guide him

"You see when I was growing up I thought it might be useful to learn how to see better in the dark. So I gradually trained my eyes to see better! It's a very useful skill actually, I recommend it."

"Ok..." said John cautiously gripping Sherlock's hand and walking carefully feeling that his insane companion could not get any stranger.

He suddenly felt Sherlock's back against his nose. Sherlock had stopped abruptly "What is it?" he asked. Sherlock replied in a hushed urgent voice

"The lock. Lindsey's door isn't locked."


	11. Find anything interesting?

Sherlock stared at the unlocked door, his heart racing. This wasn't right, something was amiss; Lindsey Pike _always_ locked the door when she left her office at night. Sherlock very slowly pushed it open an inch and looked inside. The lights were off. There was no one around. It was completely still.

"Maybe she forgot to lock it." whispered John, looking round Sherlock at the empty room, although it was too dark for him to really see anything.

"Lindsey Pike doesn't forget!" hissed Sherlock impatiently "She is the number one drugs lord in London, she would never leave her door unlocked by mistake!"

Sherlock could not always deal with people who were slower than him. This was most of the population of earth, including John. However John was all too used to it. Sherlock did seem rather unnerved by this new development, so John decided to stifle his grunt of irritation.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand again and led the way into the room and over to Lindsey Pike's thick driftwood style desk. He rapped it with his knuckles as he had done the day before, and the draw opened with a click and a grating of metal on metal. He lifted the laptop from it carefully an opened it, turning it on.

"John, go stand by the door." Muttered Sherlock as he looked at the bright screen, his brow furrowing.

"But its pitch black." Said John, however this fell on deaf ears as Sherlock eyes darted across the screen. John bit his lip in worry. The screen of the laptop illuminated Sherlock's face. He looked tired, pale and thin. Not healthy in the slightest. But his eyes were sharp, flickering across the screen like flames, his breathing looked fast and his lips were pursed. The look of an addict. John could only count his blessings that this addiction of Sherlock was slightly less dangerous than his last one.

The desktop looked the same as it had last time. Sherlock clicked on the folder named 'Bank Special' again and his heart sank. It was empty. He cursed under his breath and quickly went to check the trash folder. Empty also. Now he would never be able to find out what that email had said. Sherlock bit his lip in frustrated disappointment and looked up at John who was at the door, squinting through the darkness of the corridor. Sighing disappointedly Sherlock then clicked on one of the other folders. 'List', but it was just a mass of files labeled as dates. Sherlock clicked on one but it was only a list of different establishments in London with numbers written after them. This was a waste of time thought Sherlock dejectedly. He looked around the room sadly.

"Maybe Lindsey has left the room unlocked because there is nothing here." he said in a dissatisfied voice and John looked round at him to see in the blue light of the laptop a very weary looking Sherlock.

"You think so?" John asked coming over to see the laptop for himself.

"Yes see, she has permanently deleted the files in the 'Bank Special' folder" said Sherlock giving the laptop to John and going to sit in Lindsey Pike's high backed chair, a look of brooding disappointment on his thing pale face. John looked at him sympathetically.

"What should we do now then?" he asked, Sherlock said nothing for a moment his fingertips pressed together in the familiar position of thought.

He pointed at John "You go look through every file on that laptop." he ordered then jumping to his feet said "and I will have a good nose round this office! Might as well seeing as I'm here!" he grinned mischievously at John who rolled his eyes in amusement at Sherlock's blatant revenge mission.

John clicked on the folder: 'Regulars' nothing there apart from another long list of names and businesses with numbers after them.

Sherlock turned the chair he was sitting on upside down and to John's astonishment pulled out a book that had been concealed within the lining. He watched as Sherlock flicked though it with an unconcerned look on his face then threw it to one side and started crawling around on the floor.

John clicked on the folder: 'Clients', another list of nondescript names.

He raised his eyebrows at Sherlock who started pawing at the carpet near the bookcase like a cat.

John clicked on 'M' as he heard the ripping sound of Sherlock who was pulling back the carpet to reveal an empty space under a trapdoor. John looked at the screen. A green window had opened up with nothing but a timer counting down on it. It had fifteen minutes left.

"Sherlock." he called.

Sherlock got up not bothering to push down the carpet. He looked at the timer with a mystified expression.

"Fancy getting out of here before this goes off?" John asked

"That might be a good idea" said Sherlock leaning over John and clicking off it with a flourish. He then went back to his extermination of the room. John clicked on the next folder: 'Bank', just a load of numbers and dates. Rather dull thought John. He then clicked the folder 'Alumni'.

John paused; it was just another, smaller, list of names and dates. But one name caught his eye: _Sherlock Holmes_ it read. John's heart seemed to skip a beat. It was strange, John knew that Sherlock had been a cocaine addict (he was definitely still an addict, but not for that) but seeing his name next to all these other unfortunate souls really seemed to strike him, it suddenly seemed more real. There was a date next to Sherlock's name: 20/08/09. That was five months before John had met him. He scrolled along the screen, there was another column next to the date with the word 'Casual' in it.

"Find anything interesting?" came the offhand voice of Sherlock as he sidled over to John shoulder.

"No nothing," said John quickly scrolling down from Sherlock's name "just another load of names and dates." He turned to face Sherlock who was looking at him suspiciously "You find anything?" John asked quickly, for some reason feeling rather guilty for finding Sherlock's name in that list.

"Yes!" said Sherlock smugly. "But nothing useful for this case" he laughed and turned to face John again leaning over his shoulder to click on the icon 'M' again and raised his eyebrows.

"We should probably start getting out of here." Sherlock said "we only have 10 minutes until..." he paused and looked quickly towards the door; John followed his gaze but didn't see anything. Then Sherlock suddenly snapped the laptop shut, turned the chair the right way round, and flung himself across the floor at the carpet he had torn up, flattening it down into its original place.

"What are you...?" John whispered but then he head a noise. It was a tapping of footsteps. Suddenly realising the reason for Sherlock's sudden actions he shoved the laptop back into the draw and closed it. Sherlock's keener ears had heard the footsteps coming towards them before John had.

Sherlock span around assessing the room and then, rather comically, gave John the thumbs up and grabbed his arm and pulling him towards a bookshelf, which they then crouched behind, completely hidden from view. Sherlock gave another quick look around the room to see to his horror that book which he had pulled out of Lindsey Pike's chair was still on the floor where he had tossed it. He made a move to go get it, but John held him back just in time.

Lindsey Pike entered the room.


End file.
